


Pixieland

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: AU magical realm, Christmas, Hannukah, M/M, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:19:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: This story is in the same universe as The Future Ain’t What it Used to Be but isn’t a sequel. Written for the 2018 Starsky and Hutch Advent Calendar.Starsky and Hutch investigate a murder at an eclectic commune and come face to face with a demon.





	Pixieland

Pixieland  
By Dawnwind

 

He always kept the bedroom door ajar, as his mother had taught him, to allow the spirits access. Most folk only felt the spirits in their dreams, or on those days fraught with grief or pain, when the veil between worlds was thinnest. 

David Starsky was not most folk—a rare male born mage. The spirits spoke to him through the silver pentagram tattooed on the palm of his left hand. They poked him, pointing him to where he needed to go by channeling the conduit of his Gift.

He woke that morning knowing they were calling, urging him out into the world to solve some unspeakable crime. He wasn’t ready to move yet, still warm, curled against the long body of his partner, Ken Hutchinson.

His palm tingled, silver light flaring from the pentagram, a bat signal just for him. He sighed, having hoped for a more restful morning, and turned, seeking the strength Hutch provided. 

With the flat of his hand, Starsky fit his palm over the pentagram inked on Hutch’s upper hip. It was an ordinary tattoo, not specially formed to focus magic. Hutch had had it done where it could be covered by clothing, even a speedo, so only one other person would ever see it.

“Hot,” Hutch muttered, barely awake. 

“You discussin’ the weather this early in the a.m. or is that a comment on my lusty bod?” Starsky teased. “Cause while it’s not bad for December, I ain’t going to the beach.”

“Your hand.” Hutch scrubbed his face with one hand, pushing his longish bangs out of his eyes. “It’s almost burning me.”

“Damn.” Starsky peered at the pentagram. It was still visible, which was unusual. Generally, the tattoo barely showed. Today, it was as bright as a star.

“Trouble?” Hutch asked, standing in all his naked glory.

 _Extremely distracting._ Starsky’s mouth watered at the sight, but there were obviously more urgent matters to attend to. “Separate showers or it’ll take too long to get ready,” he said quickly. “Something’s going down in the spirit world.”

“Following your lead, Sir Merlin.” Hutch smiled wolfishly. “Get the coffee started and I’ll make toast when you shower.”

Starsky flexed his fingers over his burning palm and pulled on Hutch’s ratty old orange robe. Felt like a thousand tiny needles stabbing into his skin. A lot like when he’d first received the tattoo as a boy.

~~**~~

She was long limbed and unnaturally thin, skin pulled tight over knobby bones. In the corona of Hutch’s flashlight, she appeared bluish. Of course, the color of her hair might be affecting his vision. Starsky couldn’t tell at a glance how she’d died. A question for the coroner.

“Who has blue hair?” Hutch asked rhetorically, then answered his own question. “Punk rockers?” He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd behind them.

The area had been cordoned off with yellow tape by the officers who’d responded to the original distress call. A dozen or so eclectically coiffed and dressed people gathered just outside the tape, talking nervously to one another. 

“Or faeries,” Starsky said sotto-voce, hunkering down on his heels to examine the body. She looked human enough but there was something slightly off. Ears were decidedly pointed, but not like the TV character Spock. She was probably a halfling—one of her parents from the Seelie Court. A more common phenomenon than most Californians realized.

The silver ink on his palm that had pulsed steadily since he woke had dimmed to its ordinary flesh tone by the time they arrived at the converted warehouse. Dubbed Pixieland by the locals, it was a haven of punk rockers, artists, and other marginalized people. Most sported piercings through the nostrils and ears, odd hairstyles that seemed to defy the law of gravity, and tattoos.

Hutch’s eyebrow raised in surprise and he tapped his mouth with one finger which helped disguise his lips when he spoke. “You can sense that?”

“More or less.” Starsky stood, brushing off the knees of his jeans. Who knows what was on the cement floor around here. Didn’t smell great, although the residents had made an effort to create a homelike atmosphere. There were piles of pillows in one corner around a relic of a TV with a metal hanger for an aerial, and mattresses with handmade quilts in another area. Here and there were small holiday decorations: a sprig of holly, a wreath of bay leaves, and the occasional red candle flickering in the dim light.

“Like a…” He truly couldn’t describe _why_ beyond her physical appearance, but he could feel a fizziness inside as if his own fae abilities were reaching out to the poor girl’s. “Hey!” He waved to the approaching lab crew. “Here’s Ginny and her fan club.”

“They view me more as a slave master,” Ginny Simpson said, dropping her equipment just beyond the crime scene. She glanced around at the lookie-loos. “Who found her?”

“I did.” A small woman with a jewel in her left nostril and tightly braided cornrows raised her hand uncertainly. An older woman wearing five strands of multi-colored beads gave her a slight shove to move her to the front of the group. 

Starsky and Hutch stood to flank Ginny and hear what she learned. The fresh-faced uniformed cop who had arrived on the scene first hadn’t said there was a potential witness. A big mistake on his part.

“Was she in that position when you found her?” Ginny asked.

“I wouldn’t touch a dead body!” the woman replied, horror stricken. “We were all asleep and I got up to…” She gestured awkwardly at a curtained off section on the far side of the building. 

“Bathroom?” Hutch asked gently.

She nodded vigorously, stopping suddenly when a child of about five crept over to grasp her hand. “My kid,” she said unnecessarily, holding the girl’s hand. There was a strong family resemblance although the little girl had distinctively pointed ears and tilted green eyes. “Lily and I were sleeping. When I got up to go, I saw Renalen lying on her back.”

“That’s her name?” Ginny asked, snapping on rubber gloves and paper shoe covers.

“Renalen Bosh,” the bead wearing lady affirmed. “Dolia screamed when she found her and woke the rest of us. Renalen was just lying there…dead.” Her eyes glistened with tears and she crossed herself. “It happened…“ She abruptly stopped whatever she was going to say, eyes sliding left toward Dolia for an instant. “I called the cops.”

Hutch glanced at Starsky with a significant, _let’s get the crowd away while Ginny works_ vibe and took two steps to the right, signaling the nearby officers. “You were first on the scene?” he asked, eyeing a young cop.

Starsky would have grinned under any other circumstance. Hutch’s take-charge persona was in high gear. Hutch particularly got that way when they both suspected supernatural involvement because Starsky had to stay focused to deal with the magical details. 

“Mannheim, sir,” the rookie responded promptly.

“Get the names of everyone here when Renalen Bosh died, and who might be missing or left before you arrived,” Hutch explained. “Ask if they saw anyone who doesn’t belong.”

“Right away, sir!” Mannheim nearly saluted, whipping out his pencil and pad.

Good thing he hadn’t asked Hutch for writing utensils, Starsky thought, taking in the surroundings. Didn’t look like it would have been too difficult for the residents to move around while others were sleeping. There were numerous sleeping alcoves scattered around the large place, and probably more on the second floor. Wouldn’t someone have heard a scuffle, fight, or argument? He watched Ginny begin her assessment before joining his partner.

Hutch had culled their two most valuable witnesses out of the group and followed the ladies to the kitchen. It had probably been the cafeteria for a large factory at one time. A huge stove and refrigerator dominated the room. Foodstuffs were stacked on shelves. Several women shepherded a gaggle of school-aged children eating fruit for their breakfast.

“Everybody loved Renalen,” Dolia was saying. “She had this… what would you call it, Carmen?” Lily was clinging to her tie-dyed tunic and crying, her hitching sobs painful to hear.

“Glow about her,” the older woman, Carmen, explained. “She could sense when you were upset or sad, always had a kind word for the children. She taught the littler ones not yet enrolled in school.”

“Is there anyone you could think of who’d want to kill her?” Hutch asked gently, empathy coming off him in waves.

“Not one! Not like…” Dolia said overly loudly, startling the children eating. Several gasped or began to cry. She lowered her voice, wiping away her own tears. “Renalen was my best friend--”

“Actually,” Carmen cut in. “I can think of a man who didn’t like her.”

Starsky got the distinct impression Dolia would have said more if Carmen hadn’t interrupted. She looked shocked that the other woman would reveal that much.

“Your full name?” Hutch prompted.

“Carmen Santamaria,” she said tipping her head proudly. 

“I don’t think…” Dolia began, pale. She snatched a napkin off the large pine table to wipe Lily’s nose and then gave her an apple to silence her.

Carmen folded her arms firmly over her generous bosom, scowling. “We have to tell someone, Dolia.”

“What?” Hutch leaned forward slightly.

“It’s difficult to explain,” Carmen back-pedaled, chewing on her lower lip. She crossed herself again which seemed to provide strength. “I still consider myself Christian, even after I met…”

“Faeries?” Starsky said quietly, watching the other children file out of the kitchen under the watchful eye of two grannies. At his count, there were three others, besides pretty little Lily, who had fae features. Not counting Lily, Renalen and those kids, there must be multiple adults from the enchanted realm living in the building. No wonder the warehouse had been dubbed Pixieland. And not all the children appeared to be of faery origin. Two small boys sported outsized ears, bulbous noses and protruding foreheads, clearly trolls or possibly brownies.

“Yes.” Carmen nodded. “So when Reverend Allbright began visiting, I thought it was a wonderful opportunity to bring many of these marginalized families into the Christian fold. Baptize them, start Bible studies…”

“What is the name of Reverend Allbright’s church?” Hutch asked, patting his pockets for a pencil.

Starsky automatically placed the one he kept in his jacket for expressly this purpose in his partner’s palm. At least Hutch had a small pad of paper.

“New World Worship,” Dolia said with a scowl, smoothing her daughter’s hair. 

Lily had stopped crying, munching on her apple. She waved good-bye to the last child filing out of the kitchen. “He teached us about demons,” she said with a slight lisp.

“Demons?” Starsky echoed with a growing sense of dread. That he could understand. Although magic and enchanted beings were far more accepted now than when he was coming up, believers were still in the minority. He’d been ridiculed and bullied much of his life, not only by mainstream, disdainful humans, but even more from fundamental female mages who looked down on male practitioners.

“He was very fire and brimstone,” Carmen took up the narrative again. “Insisting that everyone here was going to hell unless we confessed the sin of demon worship, and only then we’d be saved. That was ludicrous. Most turned their backs on him, including me, very quickly.”

Hutch shook his head sadly, rubbing his face. “It’s people like him…” he started with a sigh, “You think he could actually have wanted to murder Renalen?”

“Ren told him to get the hell out of her home. But kill?” Dolia shuddered, her eyes bright with tears. She gathered Lily onto her hip. “May I…?”

“Thank you,” Starsky nodded. “We’ll get back to you if we need more information.”

“Where is his church?” Hutch asked Carmen after the other two had left.

“About a mile from here.” Carmen pointed to the right. “Can’t miss it, there’s a golden cross on the front door.”

~~**~~

On the way out of the warehouse, Starsky saw Ginny overseeing the loading of the body into the morgue wagon. 

“Anything you can tell us, Gin?” Starsky asked, sending a silent blessing for the dead girl. Didn’t matter if she was Christian, Jewish, Zoroastrian, or atheist—no one deserved to be murdered.

“Like how she died?” Hutch tacked on, with a tilt to his mouth signaling how unlikely that might be.

“As a matter of fact, sort of.” Ginny waggled her hand. “Strangled—I think.” She made a circle with her fingers and pressed inward with her thumbs. “Fairly certain her hyoid bone is broken. Difficult to see in that dark warehouse, but petechiae in her eyes—“ She winked at Starsky, “that would be—“

“Spots of blood in the eyes to those of you without a medical degree,” Hutch mimicked her usual comment. He helped the morgue guy shut the back doors of the vehicle.

She smirked but there was a grim undercurrent. “But oddly, no bruising in the neck or jawline. No marks at all.” 

“Was she sexually assaulted?” Starsky sighed. Sometimes he hated this job so much, particularly at the holidays when people should be preparing for celebrations.

“Nope. It’s weird, as if no hands touched her body.” She waved as the van drove off. “Thing is, I’m seeing a pattern. I think there were two others—when you and Hutch were back east—“ Ginny said, frowning.

“For my mother’s birthday,” Starsky clarified, with a glance at Hutch. He could read his partner’s eyes clearly. _Why hadn’t they heard about this before?_ He and Hutch had gone to New York for two weeks, but had been back for three days. Surely Dobey would have mentioned two murders in their patch of Bay City. “These other murders were like Renalen’s—no marks?”

“And you think the deaths are connected?” Hutch asked, hand to his neck as if choked up about the deaths before hearing all the details.

“There are too many similarities to discount the possibility.” Ginny pointed to the left. “One was outside, in what used to be the parking lot for this warehouse, over there on the western edge. The other was less than a mile away, in a vacant lot—both women, and…” She paused, inhaling.

“You had a gut feeling?” Starsky put in.

“Something like that.” She bit her lip, brushing fingers through her bristly short hair. “One woman had safety pins for earrings. Both had a peak on the helix of the ear and brightly colored hair.” She touched the top of her own ear sporting two gold hoops, and traced a little point. “Look like they’re fans of the Sex Pistols. The first one was even wearing a God Save the Queen shirt. Only…”

“You know they’re not punk rockers,” Hutch finished for her.

“I do autopsies all day long.” Ginny sighed. “Halflings are very, very similar to full humans. Probably someday, when we learn more about DNA and chromosomes, it will be easier to prove, but there are these tiny signs I see. I’ve _seen_.”

“Plus, you know me,” Starsky said flatly. 

“I know you.” Ginny touched two cool fingertips to his left palm. “No disputing that there is magic with the likes of you and Hutch in town.” She tipped an imaginary cap. “I’ll give you more info when I get Renalen on the table. Meanwhile, find the bastard who did this.”

“Will do.” Hutch saluted her in return. He gazed out past the nearly deserted half acre of cracked and broken macadam to the west. “That the church, you think?”

Starsky followed his pointing hand. A white spire was just visible about a mile away. In between were mostly deserted, boarded-up buildings. This part of town had once been a thriving industrial area with factories that produced vacuum cleaner parts, plumbing pipes, nails, and shoelaces. Unsexy objects necessary for daily life. Items now made more cheaply in China, leaving the former workers without employment. Poverty, homelessness, and sadness—so typical, yet so forgotten. The church looked like a relic from another era, not a beacon of salvation and love.

It was December, when TVs aired a Christmas special every night, department stores were crammed with holiday shoppers spending all their cash, and every school kid learns that Santa is coming and Rudolph is lighting his way. But what about those who could barely afford to feed themselves, much less buy gifts and a great big tree?

What about those who didn’t believe baby Jesus was born on December twenty-fifth?

Raised Jewish, Starsky had embraced every winter holiday with the passion of a true merrymaker. Light the menorah and play dreidel for Chanukkah with his mother’s family? A blazing fire and warm cider on the Winter Solstice with his father’s? Exchange gifts on Christmas with Hutch? All, and more, were how Starsky spent the holidays. 

Damning gentle folk just trying to survive in the world with a modicum of love in their lives? No, that was anathema to everything he believed in. 

“Reverend Allbright, here we come,” Starsky said.

“I didn’t get to jog this morning.” Hutch unzipped his black leather jacket. “Feel like some exercise?”

“And leave her here?” Starsky glanced at his bright red Torino parked near the entrance they’d used for the warehouse. A couple boys, possibly ten or twelve-years-old, were huddled near the hood, admiring the sleek muscle car.

“They’ll protect her from danger.” Hutch rolled his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his suede sneakers.

“As long as they don’t drive her off,” Starsky groused, then broke into a run when he realized Hutch had dashed ahead. 

The church had the hardscrabble look of all the buildings in the area. The paint was peeling and one of the front windows was cracked. There was a hand-painted golden cross on the front door, and tacked up beside the doorframe was a sign reading: _“You believe there is one God, Even the demons believe that and shudder.”_

“Charming,” Hutch muttered, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead.

“Must be the place, Ollie.” Starsky shook his head, a shiver going down his spine. He suddenly felt—ill, although he couldn’t explain why. And his palm hurt, again. He held up his left hand, the pentagram glowing eerily in the early morning sun.

Hutch fit his palm into Starsky’s for half a moment, pushing the large wooden door. 

“The door was ajar,” Starsky murmured. 

“What?” Hutch looked over his shoulder.

“Nuthin’.” Starsky pretended innocence, but for him, that was a definite sign. Sure, many churches kept their doors open to admit parishioners whenever they wanted to pray. And someone familiar with old world practices might do as he’d been taught to give the spirits access. Even so, his sensation of wrongness prevailed.

The interior of the church was dim and chilly despite the temperate winter weather. 

“Reverend Allbright?” Hutch called out.

Starsky stood beside Hutch, reaching out with supernaturally acute senses. Very unsettling, like something dark and malevolent dwelt here. His belly churned, nausea swamping him. This was bad.

He and Hutch walked the length of the middle aisle to the altar. It looked much like any other church Starsky had ever been inside as a cop. A large wooden crucifix, with Jesus’ face contorted in agony and his wounds dripping bright red painted blood, hung over a plain wooden table. No fancy carvings or elegant fixtures, only two brass candlesticks flanking a Bible lying open on the table.

“Who are you?” an angry voice called from a side door.

At his approach, Starsky took a step back. Not in fright; simply to protect his own soul. This man was a demon incarnate. Dark forces swirled inside him, blackening his aura. 

Always attentive to Starsky’s nuances, Hutch glanced at him and took a step forward, holding up his badge. “Detective Ken Hutchinson,” he announced.

“Dave Starsky,” Starsky added as the minister came into the low-lit sanctuary. 

He was tall, probably had two inches on Hutch, and wide as two normal beings. He looked like a linebacker with all his protective shoulder pads and football gear, except he was only wearing a black shirt with a white collar and black slacks. As would any other minister. He had a pasty complexion and a crude comb-over that highlighted his bald spot and sparse hair. 

“What are you doing here?” Allbright scowled, hands on his hips. He might dress like a man of the cloth, but there was nothing peaceful or priestly about him. “I don’t encourage people just wanderin’ in. Get out.”

“Your door was open,” Starsky reminded, pushing his tingling hand against his left thigh. Just because every one of his magical senses was telling him that this man was the devil didn’t actually mean he’d murdered three women.

“There have been some deaths in the area,” Hutch broached calmly. “We wondered if you’d seen or heard…”

“Over in Pixieland?” he growled. “Fornicators and adulteresses, livin’ in sin with each other, not a one of them a servant of the Lord. I heard the commotion last week when they found that hooker Lilith.” He flicked a hand toward the vacant lot next to the church. “She’d spurned my invitation to join my flock. They all did—“ 

“You knew this Lilith and Renalen,” Starsky asked. He should have asked Ginny the names of the two previously murdered women. Felt like he was dishonoring the dead not to know who they were.

“And Persephone? I knew her, and that other little pink haired one, in the Biblical sense.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Lilith only wanted money. I lay with her, cause she was offering, but I don’t pay coin.”

“Guess that made her angry?” Hutch commented.

“I offer salvation.” He raised both arms to Jesus like a benevolent savior.

Starsky nearly vomited. “So you killed her?”

Allbright frowned at the accusation. “Is that what you think? I offered my services to those heathen halfings and they acted as if they were better than I. Especially that Renalen, telling me to leave the property as if she owned the place.” His voice deepened, angry and hard. “When I saw Lilith still plying her trade right next to a church, what could I do...” He began to laugh, roughly shoving Hutch aside to face Starsky. “What have we here?” Allbright looked him up and down. “A mage, come to battle his betters.” He cupped his hand as if filling it with air.

Hutch staggered back. “Reverend,” he warned, going for his Magnum.

Starsky swallowed tightly, _seeing_ weird red light emanating from Allbright’s flesh. His own palm burned like fire, so painful he almost cried out. “What did you do to those girls?” he asked through clenched teeth. He’d never encountered an actual demon before. Allbright must be one of the fallen angels, masquerading as a man of the Lord. What forces could Starsky bring against such a being from hell?

Allbright twisted his hand around, fingers pinching inward like Darth Vader about to choke the life from his victim without touching him. Hutch gasped, the gun falling from lax fingers, his knees buckling under him.

“Hutch!” Starsky drew his weapon in one smooth movement, leveling it at Allbright. “Step away from him. You are under arrest.”

Just as quickly, Allbright abandoned Hutch, flipping his hand insolently. “You’re pitiful, mage. You have no strength against me.”

Starsky’s gun went orange red, superheating in an instant, searing his skin. He screamed, the pistol dropping to the floor next to Hutch’s limp figure. Terrified for his lover, Starsky tried channeling his power through his damaged hand. Agonizing pain radiated up his arm. Had he lost everything?

Laughing in a hollow, booming voice that seemed to come from the bowels of the earth, Allbright began to chant in a strange language that threatened to separate Starsky’s body from his mind. 

He closed his eyes, going inward, trying to find the root of his magic. He’d never been a strong mage—more a conduit than anything else. He’d only been able to do very simple spells and incantations. Never levitated. His Gift was mostly an ability to sense magic. How could he retaliate against this demon’s phenomenally strong power? 

He felt his mother’s love, encouraging him despite her complete lack of magic. Remembered his father, who’d come from a long line of female practitioners, so proud of his son’s rare Gift. And lastly, but not least, knew Hutch’s love. Hutch might be stunned, but Starsky could feel his sustaining devotion shoring him up, giving him strength. 

Allbright raised his arms, drawing a malignancy from hell, filling the church with rank vapors. Fearful noises bombarded the room, deafening wails that reverberated against the pipes of the organ. 

The cacophony sent raw pain through Starsky’s soul. He wrapped himself in that love Hutch had given so freely.

Hutch raised his head blearily, clearly terrified. He stretched out for the pistol lying just beyond his reach.

Determined, Starsky flattened his injured palm as if pushing against a solid wall. Pure powerful magic flowed out and a vivid, blinding light slammed into Allbright like a pile driver. He shrieked, strange winged creatures fluttering around him for an instant before the white brightness incinerated him, releasing a thin, black smoke that blew out the open door. Immediately, sunlight streamed through the previously darkened stain glass window, dappling the interior of the church with a brilliant rainbow. 

“W-what happened?” Hutch gasped, easing himself up to sit on the step up to the chancel. He gaped at the beautiful place, so different than moments earlier. “Was he…”

“I thought he’d kill you.” Shaking from the flood of adrenaline, Starsky threw his arms around his partner, grateful they’d both survived. “He…’’ He couldn’t wrap his mind around what had occurred. When he’d sensed something out of joint in the enchanted realm this morning, how could he have ever imagined he’d come up against-- “A demon?”

“The devil himself.” Hutch groaned, rubbing his throat. He leaned into Starsky’s embrace. “You sent him back to the underworld.”

“I don’t know _how_.” Starsky sat next to him, staring at his hands. The left was reddened and raw, as if he’d boiled his skin. Yet the pentagram stood out in bas relief, a shining star. He was weary beyond belief and there was still so much to do. “How—I didn’t say a spell or know what the hell—“ He laughed uncomfortably at the unconscious use of the word. “What I did. Something shot through me into him.”

“Goodness and love,” Hutch said with a nod, holding Starsky close. “There’s a verse in Corinthians. I don’t remember it word for word.” He frowned, obviously summoning up the quotation. “These three: faith, hope and love. But the greatest is love.”

Starsky nodded, looking into the face he adored. He kissed Hutch there in front of the altar, and vaguely thought this was the only time that was ever going to happen.

~~**~~

Starsky left Hutch guarding the church. He suspected Hutch might indulge in a quiet prayer before calling Metro on the church office phone. He wanted to retrieve the Torino from the warehouse, and managed his own personal best—a mile in just about ten minutes. As he was crossing the parking lot for a second time that day, he saw a line of people coming toward him. Carmen was in the lead, a parade of Mohawk haired, pierced residents of Pixieland trailing behind.

“We heard music!” Carmen said breathlessly. “First awful, banging noise…”

“Angels.” Lily pushed to the front. She pointed to the blue sky. “Angels were singing.” Her mom grabbed her hand, nodding in amazement. All the motley crew wore the same incredulous expressions.

Starsky hadn’t heard a heavenly chorus, but when Allbright disappeared, he’d been filled with such happiness he’d been light-headed. “Why didn’t you tell me there’d been other murdered girls?”

“You didn’t ask,” Carmen said flatly. “Police didn’t take much notice when Lilith and Persephone were found. They’d been on the streets most of their lives.”

Starsky nodded, angry but resigned. Some of his fellow cops looked the other way when a prostitute was murdered. He hated the practice but was well aware of it. When the first girl had died—he was willing to bet she was the one found in the lot beside the church, her death had probably not even been investigated. Yet, each one had come closer, and finally, into to Pixieland.

“Renalen wasn’t like the other two.” Carmen looked back at a slender man hovering behind her. He had to be Renalen’s brother. The resemblance was uncanny: same fragility, thin skin stretched over bird bones, tilted green eyes, and delicate hair that floated around his head in an azure cloud. “Rendell had been seeing Lilith, although no one approved of the match.”

“Halfling with halfling?” Starsky guessed, recalling his own mother’s cautions about such couples.

“Lilith told me,” Rendell said in a tight voice. “What Allbright done. He was evil.”

Others in the group murmured agreement. Allbright had apparently approached many of them—pitting their otherness against the mundane population. 

“And Persephone told me,” Carmen put in. “Neither of them had anyone to protect them. Renalen went crusader.” 

“When Allbright came calling, she told him to leave the building—that if he returned, she was going to call the police,” Dolia said sadly. “He must’ve come back in the night.” Tears slid silently down her cheeks, and she tucked Lily up onto her hip for a cuddle.

“He’s gone now,” Starsky said. “Dead, evaporated, I don’t know.”

“I know.” Lily nodded with a wisdom far older than her years. “We gotta make the church holy.”

“That we can do,” Carmen said decisively, looking around at the others for support. “That place used to be called Redeemer. It can be again. We can make it a gathering place.”

“Tomorrow is Winter Solstice,” a man said. He had the heavy brow and large ears of a troll—or possibly just came from a human family with thick foreheads. “We could open the doors to all. Burn sage to purify.”

“Decorate with evergreen,” woman called out.

“Make glogg.” A teenaged boy giggled with his friends, clearly relishing drinking alcohol.

“Pray for the souls of our friends,” Carmen finished, crossing herself.

Starsky hadn’t noticed earlier that one of the strings of beads she wore around her neck was a rosary. “Just check that the cops are finished investigating there,” Starsky cautioned. He’d make sure the cops were finished before tomorrow night.

~~**~~

“You’re sure this Allbright murdered three girls and then disappeared?” Dobey groused, scrubbing at the back of his head. “Did you put out an APB?”

“Very sure.” Hutch widened his eyes, as innocent as a schoolboy. 

In truth, they had put out a bulletin for one James Allbright: Caucasian, six foot four, with sparse light brown hair, last seen wearing minister’s garb. Starsky strongly suspected that there was no chance of ever finding him. The murders of Lilith Martinez, Persephone Blackwell, and Renalen Bosh would be filed as unsolved. But her family and friends knew the truth. He’d taken their souls and crushed the life right out of them without laying a hand on their bodies. This had not been in their report. Even though Dobey was a believer in the enchanted world, the brass expected rational explanations for murders and other crimes. In this case, there was none.

It was sickening. But with horror came change and growth. The people of Pixieland were taking destiny into their own hands and forging ahead. Becoming known, becoming a force to be reckoned with.

“We’re clocking out, Cap,” Starsky reminded. They had things to do, places to go on December 21st.

“Christmas shopping this late in the season?” Dobey shook his head, still holding the file on the Allbright case. “I had to buy the Shaun Cassidy phonograph with sing-a-long mic that Rosie begged for three weeks ago before the toy store went out of stock.”

“Good thing you found one,” Hutch said. “We did get her the Shaun Cassidy album you mentioned.”

“Thanks.” Dobey exhaled noisily as if all this was really more than he wanted to deal with. “Go before some department store Santa riffles through the cash drawer like last year and you’re all called back in to investigate.”

“Who is Shaun Cassidy?” Starsky asked when they were safely headed out the door to the Torino parked directly in front of Metro.

“The trivia king doesn’t know that one?” Hutch joked. “Or are you asking it in the form of a question like on Jeopardy?”

Starsky glared at him for a moment. “When did you have time to buy Rosie a record? Shaun Cassidy?”

“David Cassidy?” Hutch prompted as if on the Match Game. “Even I know that one.”

“Butch Cassidy?” Starsky guessed. Hutch up on the latest celebrity? It blew his mind.

“Wrong century,” Hutch said smugly, sliding into the car. “Think again.”

“Ain’t got time for that!” Starsky snapped, then felt bad for doing so. Hutch was being his usual self, slightly superior but always loving and good. “I’ve gotta pick up the tree for Redeemer, for the celebration.” He started up the engine, maneuvering out of the parallel space.

“I bought three kinds of cheese, cranberry sauce, and hard cider,” Hutch said. “Ran to the organic grocery when you were reaming out Cranston and Borhees for not investigating Lilith and Persephone’s murders.”

“Assholes.” Starsky bared his teeth. “As if being a hooker makes them less than human.” He glanced at Hutch with a shrug, well aware that both women had been half human. “Doesn’t make their murders any easier to bear for their families.”

“Amen, brother,” Hutch said in the manner of a gospel preacher. “At least we came through for the people in Pixieland.”

Starsky grinned at his partner, love for Hutch swelling his chest. “Grinch, I think my heart just grew three sizes.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?” Hutch asked as if he were a connoisseur of the Seuss oeuvre.

“Your heart was already that big, it’s your holiday attitude that could use adjusting some years.” Starsky drove toward the old church.

“Not this one,” Hutch promised. “I’ve got a lot to be thankful for.” He covered Starsky’s hand on the gear shift with his slightly larger one. 

Starsky had arranged with one of Huggy’s cousins working at a Christmas tree lot to have a tree waiting for him. It was the work of minutes to shove it into the Torino’s spacious trunk and tie down the lid with a bungee cord.

At 4:45 in the afternoon, the sun had already sunk below the level of the San Gabriel mountains, creating long shadows of the surrounding buildings. But the huge bonfire in the vacant lot beside Redeemer lit up the whole street, drawing neighbors from all over the district. There were far more people dancing and laughing around the crackling fire than just the inhabitants of Pixieland. Probably folks who might have shunned the halflings on any other day. 

Tonight was different. On the shortest day of the year, folk came together to celebrate life, community, and nature. How else could they get through the long winter—even one as mild as in Bay City without friends, warm food, and shelter?

“Look what they’ve done!” Hutch exclaimed in awe. “A Yule log, or a bonfire in this case, is traditional for the Winter solstice. We should have brought mead as well as cider.”

“More trivia?” Starsky chuckled. “Who are you and what have you done with my Hutch?” 

The same boys who’d admired the Torino the day before—at least Starsky thought they were the same boys—ran over when he pulled up to Redeemer to unload the tree. It wasn’t a huge evergreen, nor was it a fragile Charlie Brown special. When the tallest of the lads hauled it up against the side of the church to wait for his friend to close the trunk, it brushed the top of his head.

“What’s your names?” Hutch asked, wiping sap from his hands.

“Liam, and that’s Gwilam,” the red haired boy proclaimed.

“Good Yule,” Hutch handed each a dollar.

The boys glowed with pride, dragging the tree into the nave.

Starsky drove around the corner and parked along the curb about a block from the bonfire. He could feel the intense heat standing this far away. Hutch bumped hips and shoulders with him as they ambled toward the gathering. Already, a busy chef had set up a barbecue to roast meat and popcorn. The cider Hutch had brought was poured into a communal pot warming beside the roast chicken.

Inside the church, just as in Pixieland, there were areas cordoned for each particular celebration, with the new tree positioned directly in the middle of the aisle between the pews. A gaggle of children were decorating the branches with construction paper chains, pinecones, red ribbons, and colorful God’s Eyes made of yarn. 

In the eastern corner opposite the tree, eight candles in a mishmash of candle holders formed a makeshift menorah. Several people, one wearing a yarmulke, were playing with a dreidel. Starsky hummed along to the familiar song they were singing. 

To the west of the tree, an old woman wrapped in a bright red shawl wore a crown of evergreen complete with antlers on her gray hair. She had a rapt audience listening to her play an Irish harp. Somehow, the harp’s delicate notes enhanced the dreidel song instead of clashing with the different tune.

South of the tree, there was a statue of Mary in her traditional blue gown. Three women and a man were chanting an ancient prayer while placing the figures of a small wooden nativity at her feet. 

The altar was spread with food for all. Tamales, green bean casserole, challah, and cucumber yogurt salad, to name a few. Starsky laughed out loud when Hutch placed his cheeses on the table and immediately scooped cucumber salad onto a plate.

“Starsky! Hutch!” Carmen emerged from behind the table where she’d been organizing myriad baked goods. She wore a burgundy dress and a wreath of holly on her head. “Thank you!”

“For what, Carmen?” Starsky asked, selecting a spicy tamale.

“For bringing back the light,” she said sincerely. “Sending Allbright back to where he came from. After you told us what happened, we started toward the church—and there were people from all over coming to see what had happened.”

“We couldn’t go in because of the police investigation so we all began talking,” Dolia said, bringing in a large platter of spiced, baked apples with Lily and Rendell in tow. “Turns out, he didn’t just go after our halflings.” She looked over into the north of the tree where several inhabitants of Pixieland were tending a small shrine for the three dead women. There were photos of each surrounded by bouquets of lilies and roses. 

“Beautiful,” Hutch murmured sadly.

“He preached demons and sin to those without faith, or family to support them,” she added.

Rendell looked over, too, his green eyes distant and sad. “He was spreading his filth around the neighborhood. We talked to people who’d never come near Pixieland before. They’d rejected him, too.”

“Mama!” Lily pointed to the tree, dashing over to her friends with a string of popcorn and berries trailing behind her.

“He just didn’t kill them,” Dolia said softly, tears on her cheeks. 

“He wasn’t—human either,” Hutch said carefully. “In retrospect, the word demon was apt.”

“I suspected as much.” Carmen nodded. “I couldn’t tell.” She smiled gently when two children ran up, both wearing face paint. One had a rainbow across her forehead, and gold stars accentuated the dark skin of the other girl. Carmen handed out gingerbread cookies.

“I could feel his tainted magic. It’s my…” Starsky held out his left palm. The silver pentagram was just visible, a pale ghost of the intensity from the day before. “Ability.” Still felt like he’d sunburned his hand, but it was healing remarkably fast.

“You have the Gift.” Dolia smiled, wiping her eyes. 

“You’re not a halfling?” Rendell asked.

“Nope. Well, half Jewish, half pagan,” Starsky admitted.

“Half goofball,” Hutch commented, scooping a spoonful of Dolia’s baked apples onto his plate. 

“I see even more newcomers,” Carmen said. “Starsky, Hutch, please stay and celebrate with us. We want to begin a new chapter, have a community that looks out for one another, and you would be part of that.”

“Thank you, I can feel my Nordic ancestors stirring on the longest night.” Hutch looked fondly at Starsky.

Hungry revelers began lining up at the table for food just as two men, one clearly some relation to a brownie, the other a tall Asian man with the grace of a Ninja warrior, brought in a huge platter of roast meat.

Carmen gathered the children in a ring around the tree, holding up a red candle. “Welcome to all who brave the long darkness on this special night,” she called out. “A tragedy brought us together—we lost friends and family, one right outside these walls.” 

There were muffled comments and a few tears from the crowd filling the church. Rendell looked out the open door, biting his bottom lip. Starsky followed his gaze, the dead girls fresh in his thoughts. The bonfire wasn’t visible from this angle, but fiery sparks rose in the night sky like earthbound stars rising to the heavens.

“Tragedy will not define us.” Carmen raised her candle. Many followed suit with mugs of steaming cider and glogg. “We come together on this Yule night to celebrate life—grateful to survive the winter, nurturing one another in the spirit of friendship.”

“Strange the way murder united the neighborhood.” Starsky tucked his hand into Hutch’s. Here in this place, they would not be censored or judged.

Hutch brushed fingers calloused from gripping a pistol and playing guitar against the outline of the pentagram. Starsky glanced around surreptitiously, hoping there was a sprig of mistletoe where he could kiss his partner in public.

“Worship in whatever way you can,” Carmen continued. “Pray, dance, paint, make music.”

A cheer rose up from all sides, the children skipping with glee around their decorated tree. The harpist picked out a lively tune that had her audience clapping in time.

“Blintz, you should sing,” Starsky encouraged, scrounging two cookies before they were all eaten.

Hutch blushed, shaking his head. “Not here. I don’t have anything prepared, or a guitar.”

“I have one.” Rendell reached over the back of a pew and retrieved a battered six string. “I can play anything I hear. It’s my Gift.” Sitting in a pew, he fingered the instrument, the strains of an ancient melody intertwining with the vibrations from the harp.

“See?” Starsky nodded in approval. “It’s settled. Siddown, get comfortable.” He took the half finished plate of cucumbers and apples out of Hutch’s grasp, stashing it on another bench.

“Well…” Hutch hesitated, one hand on his chest.

“I’ll sing with you,” Lily pronounced, patting his thigh. “If you’re shy.”

“Thank you.” He sat down beside Rendell, closing his eyes for a moment as if trying to bring the words of a song to mind. _“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing ye dismay…”_

The pure tones of the guitar matched his tenor, Lily’s sweet soprano keeping pace. Then more and more voices joined in, the church welcoming the hymn back into the sacred space like an old friend. 

Joyous, Starsky took up the chorus. He didn’t have to be skilled at magic to feel it all around, he only had to watch his love shine.

Fin

 

_All you within this place,  
And with true love and brotherhood  
Each other now embrace._

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen


End file.
